Viserys stared at her, his lilac eyes incredulous. She had never defied him. Never fought back. Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that. Crack. The whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Viserys around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking. The Dothraki riders hooted at him as he struggled to free himself. The one with the whip, young Jhogo, rasped a question. Dany did not understand his words, but by then Irri was there, and Ser Jorah, and the rest of her khas. “Jhogo asks if you would have him dead, Khaleesi,” Irri said.

He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?” “Please…you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought…maybe if you dressed like them, the Dothraki…” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his dragon. “Next you’ll want to braid my hair.” Why was he always so cruel? She had only wanted to help. “You have no right to a braid, you have won no victories yet.” It was the wrong thing to say. Fury shone from his lilac eyes…